Gemotions

The morning sun cast long shadows across the dew-kissed lawn. I found another one. The fluffy terrier, Buster, was happily digging beneath my prize-winning rose bush. My brow furrowed. I’d patched the fence again, just yesterday. How on earth did he keep getting in?

I knelt, smoothing my skirt. "Buster," I said, my voice strained. "Shoo." He only wagged his tail, delighted with his excavation project. I sighed, the small hairs on the back of my neck prickling.

Later, I paced my kitchen, coffee growing cold in its mug. I’d checked every single inch of the fence – twice. There were no obvious breaches. My neighbor, Mrs. Gable, swore she kept him in. The situation left me completely puzzled. This whole thing was quite perplexing.